AGN -Chapter 121 Liang Zhu (Part 7)

Liu Tao and Luo Jun were walking along the street. Neighbors they passed all greeted them happily.

Luo Jun gave little response, hands in his pockets, appearing rather indifferent. Liu Tao, on the other hand, smiled and greeted everyone one by one. The neighbors seemed used to this, and after the two of them passed, they couldn’t help but whisper among themselves.

“Mr. Luo and Madam Luo have such a good relationship.”

“They’re going to Chef Jiang’s place again, right? Chef Jiang’s place isn’t cheap either. Between Wu’s Restaurant and Chef Jiang, they eat at one of those for every meal. They must be very wealthy—why are they living here?”

“You don’t understand. I heard Madam Luo likes that small Western-style house, so Mr. Luo specifically bought it for her. It’s called… something like mutual affection. Mr. Luo is from Shanghai and came back with Madam Luo to help her search for her family.”

“I think Madam Luo is great too. Mr. Luo is always cold and doesn’t talk to people, but Madam Luo is always smiling, approachable, and doesn’t mind everyone going into the courtyard to listen to stories.”

“If I didn’t have a sick person to take care of at home, I’d go listen to the stories in the afternoons too.”

The couple, appearing deeply in love, walked side by side, but the conversation between them was quite different from what onlookers expected—it was all about everyday domestic matters.

“The stack of serialized Xia Ke Jianghu Xing newspapers in the northeast corner hasn’t been touched by you for two months. That spot doesn’t get much sunlight. If you don’t plan to reread them soon, I’ll have someone sun them tomorrow and then move them to the second floor. There are still a few spots upstairs that get sunlight.”

“Uncle Liang brought me an invitation this afternoon. Mr. Huang from Shanghai is hosting his eldest son’s wedding to the daughter of Chief Wang next month and sent us an invitation. Should we…?”

“Just bring a gift. Going in person is troublesome,” Luo Jun said. “Anything else?”

“Huh?” Liu Tao was a bit confused.

“Didn’t you receive a letter this afternoon? You had Miss Zhang read it to you,” Luo Jun said.

“Oh, that was from Master Liu. The troupe is leaving Shanghai. It’s not safe up north because of the war, so they plan to head south. Only Sister Ah Hong stayed in Shanghai. Didn’t she remarry last year? Her husband is in Shanghai, so she didn’t leave.”

“She’s the one who taught you how to make dried citrus peel tea?” Luo Jun asked.

Liu Tao nodded. “Sister Ah Hong is very skilled. All the soups I’ve served you were made by her. But you’ve never actually tried them—the only time you did was when I made it.”

“Shanghai isn’t safe either. Have Old Liang send a message there—arrange a room for her in the concession, consider it payment for teaching you dried citrus peel tea,” Luo Jun said.

Liu Tao smiled shyly and nodded happily.

The two of them reached a street corner.

At the corner was a simple farmhouse courtyard with a small low house. Vegetables were planted in the yard, and two children were sitting on the ground playing with mud. The door of the low house was slightly ajar. Liu Tao stepped forward and gently knocked twice.

A young man came out of the house and welcomed Liu Tao and Luo Jun inside with a smile.

“Mr. Luo, Madam Luo, you’ve arrived at just the right time. The final dish, pot-stewed tofu, has just come out of the pan. I was just wondering whether to keep it warm—you arrived right on time.”

Inside the low house were two small tables. It was very simple but clean.

On the table were three dishes and one soup: pot-stewed tofu, stir-fried shredded carrots, pan-fried small fish, and pork liver soup.

The pot-stewed tofu looked especially appealing. The tofu had absorbed the sauce, giving it a dark color, then coated in egg and fried to a golden crisp, finished with chicken broth poured over it. It looked and smelled excellent—the outer layer golden and slightly oily with a crisp sheen. In that era, it was the kind of dish that would make “the neighbor’s kids cry with envy.”

Luo Jun, satisfied by the quality of the food, didn’t mind the humble dining environment and sat down to eat.

He mainly ate the tofu, occasionally picking at the crispy fried fish, and finished with a few sips of pork liver soup. Throughout the meal, he didn’t touch the shredded carrots at all.

While Luo Jun and Liu Tao ate inside the room, Chef Jiang squatted by the stove eating his own meal.

A standard chef’s meal—whatever the guests ate, he ate as well.

Some leftover pot-stewed tofu pieces, half a bowl of shredded carrots, a fried fish, a bowl of pork liver soup without any liver, and two sweet potatoes—Chef Jiang squatted by the stove eating with great appetite.

Even so, it was enough to make the neighboring children envious.

The kitchen had a back door. A child from next door, drawn by the aroma while playing with mud, came to sit by the back door watching Chef Jiang eat. Seeing this, Chef Jiang smiled helplessly. He put down his bowl, patted the child clean of dirt, washed his hands, and even placed a piece of tofu into the child’s mouth.

The child, holding the tofu in his mouth, hugged Chef Jiang and mumbled, “Mingming… Mingming…”

When Liu Tao came into the kitchen through the door to discuss tomorrow’s pastries with Chef Jiang, this was the scene she saw.

“Chef Jiang Weiming, I didn’t expect anyone would call you ‘Mingming’,” Liu Tao said with a smile.

Chef Jiang put the child down and fed him another bite of shredded carrots. “He’s a neighbor’s child who likes to come over. Yesterday his father joked that he’s been picking up my speech habits and now speaks with a northern accent.”

Then Chef Jiang’s expression dimmed slightly. “This child is about the same age as my nephew. I wonder where my older brother, sister-in-law, and nephew are now.”

“As long as we keep asking around, we’ll eventually find news,” Liu Tao said. “I wanted to discuss tomorrow’s pastries with you.”

“Could you continue making carrot-based mian-guo’er tomorrow? But not shaped like carrots—shape them like jujubes, apricots, apples, or pears. The filling should still be carrot-based.”

Hearing this, Chef Jiang instinctively glanced outside. Luo Jun had already left the house after complaining it was too low and cramped. The leftover dishes were still on the table, including half a plate of shredded carrots.

“It seems Mr. Luo doesn’t like carrots very much,” Chef Jiang said.

“He doesn’t. He says carrots have a strange taste,” Liu Tao smiled. “But he reads newspapers and books at home every day, and our house doesn’t have electric lights—we can only use candles.”

“Candles strain the eyes. I remember when I was young, there was an old embroiderer in the village. She worked late at night by lamplight, and before she was thirty, she went blind.”

“I heard Dr. Liu say carrots are good for the eyes. I know he doesn’t like them, but I wanted to ask if you could make carrots taste something he likes—or at least make them look appealing to him.”

“I know why he bought this house. He knows I’m not used to living in Western-style houses elsewhere. Those places are fine in every way, but… people there tend to look down on me.”

“I’ve already gotten used to it, but I do really like this place.”

“And I don’t want him to ruin his eyesight reading by candlelight, so I can only find a way to get him to eat some carrots.”

Chef Jiang thought for a moment. “I… will try.”

“As for mian-guo’er, I’m not very skilled either. Back in Beijing, when my father hired a Suzhou master to teach my second brother, I happened to learn a bit. I only know a few types… I’ll study it.”

“Thank you so much,” Liu Tao said happily. “I’ll come early tomorrow to pick them up. Please make the pastries a bit firmer—my husband eats them as snacks while reading newspapers in the afternoon, and he prefers firmer ones.”

Chef Jiang accepted this display of affection, saw Liu Tao off, and continued eating his meal.